


The Arrival

by Miri1984



Series: What Makes Me Happy [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Sex, F/M, Swearing, yay smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically the bass fishing simulator of smutfics. I'm sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arrival

Bucky has the most evil grin he’s ever seen on his face as he pulls Steve by the hands into the bedroom. Bucky has these lips that could curl in a way that would make the most determined of enemies think they’d underestimated him and Steve suddenly feels a bit like he might have bitten off more than he could chew with that _anything you want, Bucky_ statement a couple of seconds ago.

They are both fully clothed. Steve still has combat boots on and although thankfully Bucky has abandoned the fifteen layers of leather and sixty different weapon holsters as his apparel of choice he is still shedding remarkably large numbers of lethal objects as they move. 

“Hey I thought I told you I didn’t like guns in the…”

Bucky smashes his lips to Steve as they walk, something that really really wouldn’t have worked back before either of them had serum. Bucky has always had grace and economy of movement but Steve is pretty sure if he’d tried to walk and kiss with anyone who didn’t have super soldier serum he would have fallen flat on his face. They’d gotten a bit of practice in with that at least. 

In the bedroom, Bucky clicks on the light as they pass it, lips still glued to Steve’s, and Steve feels himself flush as Bucky’s hands work on the buttons of his shirt. “Get this… damned… thing… off,” he mutters into Steve’s chest, eyes obviously having trouble focusing. Steve catches his hands and works the buttons more simply, shucking the shirt with a tiny hesitation. Sure, Bucky has seen him naked more than once — just — not since they’d started being something other than friends. Clothes on had been a pretty strict rule lately, considering how hard they’ve both been trying to restrain themselves and Steve doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing because when his shirt is finally off and Bucky just stands there, his hands on Steve’s elbows, for a long moment, not at _all_ looking at Steve’s face, he’s torn between a desperate desire to cover himself up and a equally urgent need to get the look in Bucky’s eyes for the lock screen of his idiotic Stark phone (and the background, and every fucking reflective surface in his apartment).

“God, Steve,” Bucky breathes. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Steve asks

“What you _look_ like,” he leans forward and _licks_ Steve’s chest like a cat and Steve is so shocked by that that he can’t do anything but gasp and hold Bucky’s head. He’s never been _licked_ before.

“What are you _doing?”_ Steve asks.

“Whatever I want?” Bucky says, looking up at him. He licks again, closer to the nipple this time and Steve’s breath stutters in his chest because _oh fuck yes_ and he can hear his own voice do something he didn’t think he could have done before puberty when Bucky reaches that particular spot with that tongue.

“Pants,” Bucky says, getting his fingers into Steve’s. “Get them off.”

Steve has agreed to do everything that Bucky wants and he doesn’t have any cause to regret it, yet, but he does think Bucky needs to know a couple of things before they get to the actual business.

“I wasn’t kidding, Buck,” he says as he struggles with his belt.

“Mmm? Bout what?”

“About not knowing what to do here. I mean. I’m a keen reader and the internet is very informative but you know I’ve been through a lot of training and practical experience is always — time in the field — you know…”

Bucky pulls his pants down around his ankles but is defeated by Steve’s combat boots and swears, literally _picking Steve up_ and throwing him on to the bed — which creaks alarmingly but holds _thank god_ while Bucky works on the buckles of his boots. Steve has been in more compromising positions with regards to his physical safety but he’s pretty damned sure he’s never been more embarrassed. “Bucky are you even _listening_ to me.”

One of the boots is off. “Nope,” Bucky says. “Did you want to stop?”

“God no.”

“So what are you saying, is it important because I have a seventy-year old dry spell to break and you’re mouthing off when you could be sucking my cock.”

Steve’s mouth goes dead dry. He very much doubts he could suck an ice block right now. “Bucky I haven’t done this before,” he says. 

The other boot is most of the way off and Bucky has lost patience. He yanks with the metal arm and about three of the buckles break before Steve’s sock (smelly, he’s sure of it) is exposed and Bucky flies back, hitting the wall with a thud. There is a comically small rain of plaster that hits Bucky’s head as he sits there with the boot in his hand. Steve is sure he’s seen this exact picture in a cartoon at some point.Although he’s pretty sure when he was watching whatever film it was he wasn’t stuck on a bed with his pants down, only one sock and an erection.

Bucky’s eyes are comically wide. “What did you say Stevie?” he asks.

“I said I haven’t done this before. With anyone.”

Bucky shrugs and stands up, tossing the boot aside. “Why would that matter?” he says. 

“Don’t you need practice?”

“You don’t need practice.”

“Natasha says everybody needs practice.”

“Natasha _likes practicing.”_

“Did you two…”

“Steve I’m trying to have sex with _you_ here, not talk about past missions. And you’re talking too much.”

“Bucky this is kind of embarrassing.”

Bucky leers. “You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m the only naked one here.”

Bucky strips off his shirt and kicks off his shoes _before_ he pulls down his pants and Steve is about to congratulate him on his coordination skills when he _vaults_ onto the bed, straddling Steve’s waist with the kind of grace Steve associates with ballet. There’s something hypnotic about the way Bucky moves, and without his clothes, with just the swing of his dark hair and the metal of his arm gleaming in the electric light, Steve doesn’t think he can even breathe. “Fuck,” he says softly, looking up at Bucky, not even noticing now, that his sock is still on or that his legs are still caught up in his damned pants, just… looking. He arches up a little, because how could he help that, when Bucky is there, completely naked, then he feels the constriction of his pants around his ankles again and grimaces. “Fuck. Bucky. Please. Take my damned pants off.”

Bucky laughs. It’s a free, beautiful, amazing sound and he twists with all the grace he showed before then, and more flexibility than anyone had any right to exhibit when their balls were literally _touching Steve’s balls_ and yanks the pants free of Steve’s legs. 

He leaves the sock on, because Bucky’s a shit.

“So,” Bucky says. “You haven’t done this before.”

Steve shakes his head and licks his lips. Bucky uses his flesh hand to thumb across Steve’s forehead, then trails it over his cheek and jaw down to his collarbone, slowly. He rests his hand in the hollow of Steve’s neck, spreads his fingers and presses gently. Steve doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. “I always loved this part of you,” Bucky says softly. “Even when you were tiny.”

Steve realises he hasn’t breathed for a good long while and draws a long, slow, shaky swallow of air, tilting his head a little towards Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t really know what to say, especially when Bucky seems lost in memory like this, because there had been a time there when he wasn’t certain they’d ever come back as clearly as they have. Bucky can recall things about their life before the war that Steve has forgotten — which feels wrong — because since the serum Steve’s memory has been eidetic — he literally cannot _not_ remember anything — pure hell when he first woke up, when the look on Bucky’s face as he fell, the sound of Peggy’s voice as he crashed, the exact feel of a pulse stuttering to a stop under his hands as he killed, were all as fresh as the day they happened. 

But he can also remember the look on Bucky’s face when he first had Ben and Jerry’s, the sound of his voice saying Steve’s name for the first time after Topanga. He can remember Gabe and Dernier singing filthy French songs on the march back from Austria and the exact feel of Peggy’s lips when they first kissed.

Memory is a horrible thing, and the most amazing thing, and he thinks the image of Bucky with a boot in his hand and plaster in his hair will keep him smiling through the bad things that are to come.

Bucky chooses this moment to grind his crotch into Steve’s and lean forward to kiss him and okay, Steve will happily acknowledge that he’ll also use _this_ memory to keep him going in rough times, although possibly not when he’s wearing the Captain America suit because raging hard-ons are hard to conceal when you’re wearing tights. 

They kiss for a while and Steve has a hard time working out exactly what to do with his lower regions. Bucky is as hard as a rock against him, leaking a little and rubbing back and forth at a pace that is too slow to actually do anything for _Bucky_ but might just be enough for Steve if he doesn’t keep it together. “Bucky,” he gasps against his lips. 

Bucky reaches down and does things with his hands that suddenly make talking impossible. He doesn’t stop kissing Steve, though, and it gets a little heated, and Steve doesn’t want to say anything at first until he really… kind of… can’t not.

 _“_ Ow _. Ow. Bucky.”_

Bucky stops, swearing blue murder in Russian and English, hopping off Steve. On the way to the bathroom he rips off Steve’s sock, muttering something under his breath as he goes. “Where are you going?”

“You really haven’t done this before have you Steve.”

“I told you that.”

When Bucky comes back in he’s holding a bottle of lube and things go a lot more smoothly and… a little too quickly for Steve whose hips stutter to a stop in a kind of embarrassed ecstasy that makes Bucky giggle.

_Bucky actually giggles._

“Oh my god Steve I wish you could see your face right now.”

If Steve felt any less _utterly content_ he would be a hell of a lot more embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up you idiot.” Bucky leans over him and kisses him again and Steve would have apologised again except that there really isn’t anything that he doesn’t like about this moment and Bucky doesn’t seem upset and oh yeah… there’s something else he’s supposed to be doing.

He pushes Bucky gently back, and Bucky goes willingly enough. It’s true that Steve hasn’t ever done anything like this before, but he’s thought about it often enough in the past few weeks, and he’s pretty good with the internet now that Clint has shown him how to word his searches, and the quinjets have surprisingly good wifi on long flights when he knows Bucky is safe at home in the apartment.

After a timeless interval Bucky gasps and comes and Steve smiles against his hip for a second before they realise that the metal fingers of Bucky’s hand are hopelessly tangled in Steve’s hair.

There are a few awkward moments when Steve wants Bucky just to rip them (and a good chunk of Steve’s hair) out but Bucky insists he can unwind it. Eventually they end up side by side in the enormous king bed, Steve’s head pillowed on Bucky’s right side. 

“I had you on the ropes,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky laughs. “We’ll do better next time.”

Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s chest. “I don’t think we did too bad, really.”

“I think I broke your wall.”

“It’s our wall. And I can fix it.” He runs a hand over the join between Bucky’s flesh and the metal arm and Bucky goes still, suddenly, his flesh hand gently cupping the back of Steve’s head. Steve, sensing he’s done something wrong, stops. “I’m sorry,” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It’s okay,” he says softly, then presses another kiss to the top of Steve’s head. Steve lets his fingers run down the length of the metal arm before he brings it back up, deliberately, laying it flat on Bucky’s smooth stomach, feeling the beat of his heart and the gentle rise and fall of his breath. He could sleep now, can feel himself sinking down towards it. 

Bucky’s voice is just above a whisper, as Steve’s eyes gently close. 

“Everything’s okay.”


End file.
